


Recipe for Disaster

by Helendmeyourears



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helendmeyourears/pseuds/Helendmeyourears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack tries, bless his heart, and Gabriel recognizes that. Together, they'll make a great recipe for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recipe for Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this fic is my origin story answering just how a white guy became the one to bring a diverse organization such as Overwatch together, especially since that guy grew up on a farm in rural Indiana. Please be nice to me, and comment and/or leave a kudos? Or catch me on tumblr @realgabrielreyes

"What are you playing?"

Gabriel doesn't look up from his guitar as Jack plops- or as close as you can come to it, anyway, when you're stiff and sore as all hell from training- down next to him, scuffing up the dry desert dust while he settles himself.

Gabriel shrugs, because he doesn't know yet. Calling it a song would be generous; it's a song-to-be, a song in training, unsure of what it wants to convey or do or even be yet.

Just like me, Gabriel thinks, then frowns, plucking at his guitar strings absentmindedly. It's corny, or something like it, but not without some truth.

What does he want?

It's a question that's been on his mind since he was asked to be part of this- this Overwatch. He wants to say yes and save the world, or die knowing he tried his damnedest. He wants to go home and see his family for what may be the last time. He wants to turn back the clock so that this Omnic Crisis never started. He wants-

"Y'know?" Jack says, interrupting Gabriel's thoughts. "I'm glad I met you."

That surprises Gabriel, but even more surprising is the warmth flaring in his chest that follows. Since when did he start caring what Jack Morrison thought of him?

"Yeah?" He says, and when he glances over at Jack, Jack's smiling at him, bright as anything against the muted, earthy colors of the desert at dusk.

Jack nods. "I wasn't sure about you at first- you looked kind of gangster, with the beanie and all, but you're the best of all of us here."

Gabriel stares. Whatever warmth that had been inside him is gone, replaced by the sting of disappointment and a prickling sensation on his skin, perhaps from the sudden chill in the night air.

Funny, how quickly the desert could turn cold. 

"And I'd like to know more about where you're from?" Jack continues, oblivious. 

"I'm from Los Angeles," Gabriel tells him, and begs, prays that if nothing else, Jack will not make a green card joke. Anything but that.

"No, you know what I mean, where you're really from."

I asked for that, Gabriel thinks in dazed disbelief. I did. I said anything but the green card.

"Could you play me a song of your people?"

For a moment, there's no sound but that of the night, and Gabriel doesn't know what to do. It's been awhile since something like this has happened.

He decides without consciously deciding, takes a deep breath then plays a song his tío used to love to play, much to the exasperation of his mother.

"Met her at the Mercado,   
she was buying avocados.   
Man, she really turned me on.  

She reached for my pepper,   
I grabbed her tomatoes,   
and I knew it wouldn't be very long. 

She went to the mesa,  
I grabbed my cerveza,  
I got the onions and lemon.

And the way she looked at me-  
man, I could clearly see  
it wouldn't be very long.

Guacamole, guacamole!  
Guacamole, guacamole!  
We'd me making guacamole all night long!"

At this point Jack is red as one of the tomatoes from the song, and though Gabriel can't deny the twinge of satisfaction in his gut, he still takes pity on Jack and stops playing.

"That was, uh," Jack says, uncertainly, one hand mussing about in his hair, "Not what I expected. I think-"

"Do you even hear yourself sometimes? When you talk, I mean?" Gabriel asks.

"I'm...sorry?" Jack tries. Gabriel searches his face, and thinks- hopes- he can tell Jack means it. He's a fool, but a well-intentioned one.

"We can work on that," Gabriel tells him.

Jack nods, offers him a smile, and it's an awkward, wry thing, but damn if Gabriel doesn't like it anyway.

He just may be a bigger fool than Jack.


End file.
